


always tasted like boiled dirt

by ImDoney



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Coffee, Crushes, M/M, One Shot, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash, mentions of the men of overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImDoney/pseuds/ImDoney
Summary: Ever since his Deadlock days and throughout Blackwatch, McCree has had a list. Now, with Overwatch back in action, his list makes a return. McCree ends up making some revisions.





	

McCree considered himself an appraiser of the male form, of sorts. He didn't have a name for it back in his Deadlock days, but once he was recruited to Blackwatch he appointed himself the title. Surrounded by men at the peak of physical perfection, it was only natural for him to rate them in order of attractiveness, right? That’s what young McCree decided, anyway.

 

Before Overwatch disbanded, his rating list often changed from day to day. One day, Commander Morrison was the best. Another, it was Reyes, and then the next it would be Reinhardt. The best one on the list was always changing. Whenever he had downtime that wasn't spent drinking or training, he was revising The List.

 

Of course, once tensions in old Overwatch started to rise, his list was just a memory. He didn't have enough time to think about it at all. And once Overwatch seemed to be gone for good, it was only something he thought about during daydreams. And now… He had revived the list.

 

McCree was not ashamed in admitting he jumped at the chance to get back to the ol’ watchpoint. Nor was he ashamed in being one of the first old members back at Gibraltar. Which for McCree, that meant getting back into the old grind. Training, talking with his teammates, going on missions and… Updating the list.

 

As time went by and more heroes joined Overwatch, McCree added them into his list. Reinhardt was back, and he still looked great as he did back then. The elusive Solider 76 whose origins were a mystery (Although everyone knew who he was. They would just never say it to his face) was in fine shape for his age. Torbjorn and Zenyatta weren’t McCree’s cup of tea. And although he could appreciate the work that went into reforming Genji, he was only a friend. Lucio was lean and muscular, but he was so much younger than McCree. He _was_ almost 40, after all.

 

Now Hanzo, he was something else. Well-sculpted and half-bare chest, defined features, _and that tattoo_. McCree was smitten with his appearance. He was easily at the top of his list, considering he didn’t factor things like personality.

 

If McCree did though, it would create a drastic change to his list. Hanzo reminded him of a cat; only wanting to socialize on his own terms, bristling away at any unwanted contact. It was also hard to find Hanzo in the first place: he was always in his room or training. He could hardly hold a conversation to save his life, either.

 

There was also the whole incident with Genji. It was hard to learn that the new member of Overwatch did something like that to one of the old members. But, McCree could hardly hold it against the older man. He himself came from a gang, and now he was redeeming himself. It was better that they were both apart of Overwatch, making themselves better people.

 

That didn’t change the fact he was damn hard to talk to. It also didn’t change the fact that Hanzo had both first place for appearance and last place for personality on his lists.

 

McCree was persistent, however. He had set his sights on the archer. He was going to actually find a moment to talk to him, learn about his personality, and damn it, _maybe ask him on a date!_

  
McCree found his chance one Saturday morning, at 3 a.m. He couldn’t sleep, which happened a lot these days. He’d wake up at some forsaken hour and still be up at the time he would normally drag himself out of bed. Instead of wasting his time in bed, he decided to get up and make himself a cup of coffee. He hoped he didn’t fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon.

 

He ambled into the dining hall, dressed only in his pajama pants, hat, and serape. The second he entered the smell of minty tea hit him. The room was loud compared to the other parts of the Watchpoint; it was bright with artificial light. The almost-unnoticeable breathing sounded like a freight train. McCree wasn’t that surprised to find another person up at such an hour. He wasn’t even surprised to see that it was Hanzo. He was never in the dining area at normal people hours, and so McCree assumed he came earlier. How much earlier was the question that McCree sometimes pondered during late nights, when his thoughts deviated to him. Apparently, the magic time was 3 a.m.

 

Hanzo ate a piece of toast and sipped what McCree assumed was tea. He was sitting down at one of the tables, with a splayed-out newspaper next to him. He didn’t look half as strained as he normally did, but he was already dressed for the day. His appearance was as meticulous as ever. With his outfit wrinkle-free and his hair fixed into a neat ponytail, he didn't look like a man who got up at 3 a.m.

 

Hanzo’s eyes snapped to McCree just as he entered the room. McCree wasn’t shocked by this either, considering Hanzo’s background and the spurs on his own boots. Hanzo's eyes widened in surprise until they relaxed to a scowl. He sat his mug on the table before he stood up and walked over to the gunslinger. McCree would never admit this, but his heart was racing.

 

“What are you doing, cowboy?” Hanzo was about a meter away from him, with crossed arms. He smelled minty. McCree reckoned he must have taken a bath or a shower, but then what time would the other man have gotten up? It could wait until he was alone: he didn’t want to be thinking about _Hanzo Shimada taking a shower_ right now. Right now he had more important things to be thinking about, like actually talking to the man.

 

Putting on his best sleep-deprived 3 a.m. flirting smile, McCree answered. “In general, or right now?” He hadn’t meant to sound so much like a smart ass. It was inevitable that he would screw up like that, though. Talking to Hanzo made his heart race and made him feel like his mouth was full of with cotton.

 

Hanzo frowned. “Which one do you think, cowboy?” He looked McCree over briefly. Suddenly, McCree felt very underdressed and also very stupid.

 

“Well, shucks, I’m not too sure, maybe the right now?” McCree figured he might as well try to banter as much with Hanzo while he could. There was no guarantee with the cat-like-man when they would next speak, or even see.

 

The other man scoffed. “If that is what you believe, then answer me.”

 

McCree tipped his hat. “Well, with a demand like that, I guess I can’t say no.” McCree counted down and back from ten in his head as he tried to keep his own composure. “To be honest with ya, I couldn’t sleep. I figured I might as well just get up and get going,” McCree drawled, “and what about yourself?”

 

Hanzo sighed, and then turned around giving the younger man a nice view before sitting back down. “I get up at this time, usually,” he answered through the mug.  Instead of looking back at McCree, he turned to the newspaper that laid on the table. McCree figured that this was his way of saying “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

 

McCree resisted the urge to sigh at another failed attempt to talk the archer as he went into the kitchen. Pouring his own cup of coffee that Hanzo must have brewed, he put a piece of toast into the toaster. He couldn’t help but think it was odd that Hanzo had brewed coffee when he was most likely drinking tea. He let out his sigh that he was holding, and decided he would just ask him. That is, if he hadn’t retreated to his room already.

 

He walked back into the dining hall, plate of toast in one hand and mug of coffee in the other. He laid his eyes on Hanzo, who was _still_ there. This, for one of the first times this morning, surprised him. He had expected him to leave the minute McCree wasn’t looking at him.

 

“Mind if I sit here, Shimada?” Hanzo hummed in response, still focused on the newspaper, sipping his tea. It was a good enough answer for him. Sitting on the opposite side of the table, McCree ate his toast and drank his coffee. It was bitter. He favored it with a bit of milk, but he was so preoccupied with seeing Hanzo that he forgot to put some in. It was still better than the coffee he had during his Deadlock days. Everything was. 

 

“Say, Hanzo…” McCree asked, once the silence was too unbearable. The man in question looked up from his reading. “Why did ya make coffee if you’re drinking tea?”

 

He earned a blank stare in reply. It was one of the first times McCree had contemplated his eyes. They were a deep brown that he felt like he could get lost in. His gaze was so intense, McCree wasn’t sure if he was actually angry or just feigning it.

 

“Did you ever consider that I might be drinking coffee?”

 

“Well, no, but I figured ‘cause it smelled minty in here,” McCree answered as he took a swig of his own tart coffee. “But that’s water under the bridge, ain’t it? How do ya like your coffee?”

 

The corner of Hanzo’s lips turned up in what almost turned out to be a smile, but before it could come to fruition he replaced it with his usual stoicism. “Black. I can hardly stand it with anything in it,” he paused, his eyes taking on a apologetic look. “It was fair of you to assume I was drinking tea. I do not prefer coffee,” as if making a point, he pushed his own mug away from him.

 

“Apology accepted darlin’.” McCree ignored the quizzical look in his direction. “Personally, I hate the black stuff. Was ruined for me back at my old gang,” McCree sighed, “I’ll drink it, but I’d rather have some milk in there.”

 

Hanzo nodded. “I am the same. I'll drink it if I have no choice. I suppose I just wanted to see if my tastes had changed today, but it seems that they haven’t.”

 

McCree chuckled. “For the record, I've never like tea, and still don’t. Can’t do nothing about our tastes.”

 

Hanzo smiled in return. It was reserved, much like the man himself, but it was still a smile. And although it was about 3:30 a.m. on a Saturday, and even though the lights were all too bright and McCree was dead tired, Hanzo looked angelic enough to put Mercy to shame.

 

As if realizing who he was talking to and where he was, Hanzo replaced his smile with a passive face. He cleared his throat, like he was trying to draw attention away from his expression. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go train now. Goodbye, McCree.” He got up, pushed in his chair, and waved as he walked off.

 

Then, McCree was alone in the dining hall. The lights were still too bright, and the quiet was deafening. Hanzo had left his own plate and cup on the table, but McCree could understand. He probably felt awkward showing emotion for once. McCree snorted.

 

In hindsight, it wasn’t that hard to talk to him, once they started chatting. McCree actually thought it was pleasant. It wasn’t what he predicted, but it wasn’t boring or enjoyable.

 

He beamed as he washed their dishes, thinking about their conversation. Today, as he tried not to fall asleep, he would be reevaluating his lists. And thinking about when he could talk to Hanzo again. He would also be thinking about adjusting his sleep schedule.

 

Because once McCree saw something he wanted, he’d persist ‘till he had it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first fic for Overwatch, but I tried to keep them in character.This started off as something I thought I would never finish and then a month later I end up finishing it. I sorta lost my muse at the end but I knew if I didn't finish it now it would never end up getting finished. In short... I'm probably going to revise this later. And maybe write a sequel if there is demand for it.  
> Thanks again for reading!!!


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